


Harry Potter and the Birthday Surprise

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Fluff, F/M, Fluff, also there is cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: Ginny Potter knows she has the best present ever for her husband for his birthday. Before she can give it to him, though, she has to contend with three naughty children and a birthday cake...





	Harry Potter and the Birthday Surprise

“Distract me,” Hermione muttered, and Ginny was amused to see, when she looked over, that she couldn’t look directly at her husband and daughter, playing together on the toy broom.

“Rose will be absolutely fine,” she promised. “There is nothing safer than these toy brooms. Plus, children bounce remarkably well.”

“Mummy, _look_!” Obediently, Hermione looked over at her daughter, who was beaming with pride as she zoomed around on the broom, completely oblivious to the fact that her father was holding on to its end with a vice-like grip.

“Oh, well done Rosie!” she cried. “Aren’t you so clever?"

“Look, Mummy, look! I going to fly alla way to MARS!” Rosie exclaimed.

“To Mars? Goodness me,” Ginny said. “How about, for a test run, you go all the way to the bottom of the garden for me, and take your cousin Jamie his sun hat?”

“Mmm...” Rose considered this, tilting her head to one side. “Okay!”

“Get Harry to make sure he’s keeping the kids in the shade—I don’t want a repeat of last year’s sunstroke episode with Ted,” Ginny said in a low voice to Ron, who picked up the hat. “Oh, and ask him when the first lot of sausages will be done. I’m absolutely starving.”

Ron promised to do so, and the two of them trundled off to the bottom of the garden, where Harry had set up his brand-new barbeque—a birthday present from Ginny and the kids—and was busying cooking for the whole family, who had come round to celebrate his birthday. “Only, I think Dad was more excited than he was about the barbeque,” she added to Hermione, having explained this. “He’s down there now, ‘helping’,” she put air quotes around the word, and Hermione laughed.

“He’ll be worse than the kids for keeping an eye on,” she said, and Ginny nodded ruefully.

“I’ve already prewarned Mum that if—” She broke off, aware of Harry barrelling towards them, a worried look on his face. “What’s wrong?” she called.

“The kids are with you,” he said, but it was clear that this was just wishful thinking. Ginny felt her heart begin to beat faster, and she saw Hermione make the effort to sit up a little straighter.

“No, they’re with _you_ ,” she said firmly. “You took James, Al and Teddy down to help with the barbeque.”

“And they got bored inside thirty seconds because I wouldn’t let them anywhere near the flames,” Harry said, his voice very controlled. “So I told them to go up to you, and ask you to get the toy broom out. Twenty minutes ago.”

“I didn’t see them with anyone else,” Ron said, reappearing with Rose. “Everyone’s present and accounted for, but nobody else has seen them.” The garden was filled with Weasleys of assorted ages, the older ones of whom were now making their way over to them, looking concerned.

“No one will have been hurt, because we’d have heard the wailing,” Hermione said reassuringly. “And the only dangerous thing is the barbeque, which clearly they haven’t been near.” No one looked convinced by this, but, suddenly, Ginny got it. She knew exactly where they’d be: exactly where they weren’t supposed to be.

“It’s fine,” she said, before anyone can say anything else. “I know where they’ll be,” she added.

“Is everything okay?” Mum had arrived now, looking worried. “Ron said that Teddy, James and little Al had vanished?”

“It’s fine,” Ginny repeated. She looked over at Harry. “Come on,” she said to him. “Let’s go and dig ’em out. Don’t worry, everyone, I know just where they’ll have got to. Ron, can you go back to Dad, tell him everything’s fine, and to keep that barbeque going? We’ll be back in a moment, and we’re going to need all the food we can get, because, trust me, we’re not going to be getting any birthday cake...”

* * *

The previous night, she’d all but pushed Harry into the floo. She’d absolutely insisted that he go for pre-birthday drinks with Ron, as he’d arranged weeks ago, citing the fact that she needed to bake him a cake, wrap his presents, and get the children to sign his cards (or at least, Teddy would sign his card. James would probably manage it, with a few backwards letters, and Al would just scribble on his, but it was the thought that counted.) And it all needed to happen in secret, without him there.

Harry insisted that it did not, and that he should stay and help a clearly frazzled Ginny—the children had caught the birthday-excitement bug, and it wasn’t fair to leave her on her own with them. She, however, had absolutely insisted that he go—not because of the cake, presents, or cards, but because of something else, something which she did not, yet, want to name, in case she was wrong.

She’d only begun to suspect, earlier that week. She had hidden the test she’d picked up a day or two ago, but she hadn’t had time to take it yet. It was probable—likely!—that she was wrong, and there was no sense both of them getting their hopes up. Or so she told herself. She wanted to take it in secret, just in case she was wrong. And so she had to send him away, and birthday-prep was the ideal excuse.

In the end, she’d won (of course). Harry had gone to the pub with Ron, and the kids had signed their names in cards and ‘helped’ her wrap the presents and make the cake. She put Al to bed whilst it baked, but let James and Teddy stay up until she got it out of the oven and they’d ‘helped’ her cover it in chocolate frosting. She realised slightly later that this was a mistake—not because they’d done a bad job, but because the sight of cake just before bedtime was like when she got the catnip out in front of the cats. They were obsessed with it, and begged and begged to be allowed to try it, go on, just a tiny bit, _pleeeeeeeeease_.

In the end, she’d had to be quite firm, and there had, of course, been tears and sulking (“HORRID MUMMY!” James had pouted, as she’d placed it on a high shelf in the pantry). She’d absolutely forbidden them from touching it, packed them off to bed, then, on taking the test, promptly forgot all about the drama entirely.

 _Positive_.

She was pregnant again.

Sitting in the on the edge of the bathtub, seeing the potion glowing, she’d felt the thrill of excitement run through her just as strongly as it had the previous times. She hugged the knowledge to herself, delighting in being the only one who knew for a few hours, but mostly, she couldn’t wait to tell her husband.

As Al grew, they’d discussed having a third, and had decided that they weren’t trying, but they weren’t _not_ trying, either. They were perfectly happy with their family as it was, so if it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen, and that was great. But if it did—well. That would be great, too. But a few months had gone by with nothing, until, a week or so ago, she’d realised that she just had a _feeling_ again. That was always how it started—no sickness, no cravings, no other symptoms just yet. Just a _feeling_. For someone who’d nearly failed Divination, it was maybe a bit inexplicable, but that was just how it was.

The potion said she was just about eight weeks, so they wouldn’t tell her parents or the rest of the family just yet, just in case. But she could not wait to tell Harry. She’d planned to tell him when he got back from the pub, but he was a little later than she’d thought he might be, and she’d fallen asleep downstairs (the exhaustion, too was one of her tell-tale signs, but, to be fair, she did have two children of her own and sometimes a Teddy to care for, so that wasn’t entirely surprising).

Harry had laughed at her, teasing that she’d been the one on the bottle that night, but she’d felt so groggy and disoriented, stumbling into bed, that she just hadn’t had the right moment to tell him. It did occur to her, though, that it would make a fantastic birthday present, so she decided to keep the news to herself for just a few more hours, having already safely hidden the test. In the morning, though, they’d been woken by three incredibly excitable children at five thirty and...well. Ginny wouldn’t have exchanged any of them for the world, but it did mean that she didn’t have a single moment to talk to Harry alone.

Before she knew it, it was time for the family to start arriving—they’d invited them all over for a barbeque, making the most of the glorious weather and the opportunity all the children had to run around together in the garden. And if Harry noticed she’d drunk nothing from the celebratory glass of champagne Fleur had been handing out to everyone, he hadn’t said anything.

She’d decided to tell him late that evening. Everyone would have gone home, James and Al would be in bed, and Teddy would be back with his Grandmother. It’d just be the two of them, on the sofa—maybe in the garden if the weather held. They could take their time together, and it would be _perfect_.

* * *

Now, striding across the lawn, she shared her theory with Harry. Not the baby one. The other one.

With all her own excitement, she’d forgotten about the children’s enthusiasm over the cake. Well, this wasn’t quite fair. She shouldn’t tar them all with the same brush: Al was fairly oblivious, happy to just toddle after his two older brothers cheerfully. James and Teddy, though. _That_ was another story.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d dropped the ball. The signs were all there—their sneaky, gleeful, guilty expressions all morning; the way they stopped talking whenever she entered the room; the way they kept just ‘walking by’ the pantry, as though to check it was still there... Even the arrival of their cousins had barely registered.

But, between last night’s discovery, the early morning wake up call, sorting out her husband’s gifts from his children, getting everyone washed and dressed and breakfasted, cleaning the house in preparation for her family arriving, realising they didn’t have a clue how to work the new barbeque, and just general everyday madness, on top of the birthday excitement...well, she just hadn’t been as on it as she should.

So she shared (most of) this with Harry, briefly, as they made their way towards the house. “...and so I’d put all the gold in Gringotts on the fact that the three of them are in the pantry, trying to get to the birthday cake, ten percent because they want cake and ninety percent because I told them they weren’t allowed last night,” she finished.

“As a man trained in understanding the brains of criminal masterminds,” he replied, “I’d say you were absolutely right.” They reached the kitchen doorway, and he put a finger to his lips. She nodded, creeping in after him. The pantry was just off the kitchen, and angled so that, from the doorway, you can see in, but people inside can’t see out. This meant that Ginny and Harry got full view of the children (who had left the door open), but they couldn’t see them.

Which, in turn, meant that Ginny was able to summon the camera and silently take a picture for posterity, put it down, then turn back to her husband, who, like her, was trying not to laugh and not really succeeding. “Strict faces on?” she whispered.

“Naturally,” he said, wiping his expression clean. They advanced on the pantry.

“And what,” Ginny thundered, summoning her best impression of her own mother, “is going on here?!”

It was fairly obvious what was going on: Teddy and James had enlisted Al to help them get the cake, placing him on top of James’s shoulders, who was in turn on top of Teddy’s. The leaning tower of child was angled towards the highest shelf, on which lay the cake, but Al, who didn’t really have much of a clue what was going on, had gotten distracted with the spice rack. The endless shiny bottles and tubs, which make such a satisfying sound when you hit them, were enabling him to fully embrace his inner percussionist, and he was happy to whack a wooden spoon against them, gleefully making a huge racket, whilst his brothers implored him to _get the cake, silly! C’mon Al! The cake!_

On Ginny’s utterance, they all turned. Or rather, Teddy and James turned, both looking incredibly guilty, and Al cheerfully stayed where he was. So, of course, the two of them started wobbling like crazy, and it was immediately clear what was going to happen. Harry leapt in with a cushioning charm, and Ginny froze them where they were for an instant, and they righted James and Teddy before any harm could come to them, Harry picking up Al and putting him on his hip.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the spice rack, which came crashing down, landing straight on top of the birthday cake.

“Oops,” said Teddy, looking, for a moment, exactly like his mother had when she knocked something over.

“And just what,” Ginny asked, looking at the two of them and trying very hard not to laugh at their failed sneakiness, “did the two of you think you were playing at?!” Teddy, who knew he should know better, knew he should set a better example, stuttered and stammered guiltily, unable to answer.

It was James who piped up. “The cake,” he said, and his mother turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “The cake was very very lonely,” he explained. “You hid it away. It had nobody to play with. So we had to make sure it was okay.”

The phrase _butter wouldn’t melt_ could’ve been invented for her eldest, and it wasn’t the first time she’d had to meet his gaze, trying to look severe, whilst only just managing not to laugh. Ginny suspected it wouldn’t be the last, either. So she was glad when Harry stepped in, doing the whole _and weren’t you told not to precisely this?_ routine.

The two of them nodded guiltily—Al was completely unaware still, gumming the wooden spoon happily—and mumbled their apologies. “Is the cake okay?” Teddy asked. “Will everyone still get a piece?”

Ginny looked at it. Fortunately, she’d put so much chocolate buttercream on it that most of the spice jars had simply bounced straight off. They’d take some cleaning, but equally fortunately, she had another tub of the icing, and she could use it to fix the damage. It would be fine.

“I think I might be able to work some magic,” she said, still trying to look strict, and not think instead about what an adorable Christmas card photo this would make. “And everyone should still get a piece, yes.”

James tapped her arm. “Even us, Mummy?” he asked, big brown eyes staring up at her.

Ginny’s lips twitched. “I think the two of you should go and sit very quietly in the garden with Grandma Molly. And if you can manage that until it’s time to eat, I think, yes, you might still get some cake. But only if you’re _very_ good boys!”

After they promising faithfully to be _excellent_ boys, Harry took them off into the garden to explain the situation to everyone, who all thought it was very funny (though they didn’t tell James and Teddy that). Al, too young to know what he was doing really, was deposited with his Uncle Ron and cousin Rosie, who magnanimously allowed him to play on the broom, and Hermione and Grandma Molly promised to keep an eye on the other two, who knew when they were beaten.

Harry went back to the kitchen, to help Ginny with the cake rescue, but found she’d already completed it. “It could’ve been a lot worse,” she said cheerfully. “I had visions of us being up all night with three kids who were incredibly ill on a sugar overdose, having finished the entire thing off themselves. But it was just a bit of the buttercream that got rubbed off in the end, and I’ve fixed that, see? It might not be the best-looking birthday cake you’ve ever had, but it’ll certainly taste nice!” She gestured towards it, looking good as new on the kitchen table.

“You’re a genius,” Harry said, kissing her on the cheek. “Well done. But, look, I was thinking,” he turned serious for a moment, and she looked over at once. “This is _precisely_ why we can’t have three. Far too many opportunities for trouble! And worse—they’ll outnumber us!”

It was absolutely, one hundred percent clear that he meant this as a joke. And Ginny absolutely, one hundred percent meant to respond with a similar joke. But then she hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and realised that the perfect opportunity to do something, or tell someone something, didn’t present itself that often.

So she smiled a soft, secret smile, leaned in, and said, “Too late.”

It took him about point three of a second to understand her meaning, another point three of a second for his expression to change to one of complete and utter joy, and another point three for him to pick her up, whirl her around in the air and kiss her like he only ever has twice before.

“You’re sure?” he asked a moment later.

Ginny laughed. “Positive,” she said. “I started to think I might be pregnant again earlier this week, but I only managed to get the test a couple of days ago, and I took it whilst you were out at the pub last night. I was going to tell you then, but I was so sleepy, and then the kids this morning...well, anyway, the plan was to tell you tonight, but...I guess it slipped out early.”

Harry laughed too. “That’s...I’m...wow!” he manged. “How far along are you?”

“About eight weeks, though of course we’ll have to get in touch with St Mungo’s soon to confirm it,” she replied. “So I don’t want to tell anyone else yet, either.”

“Just in case,” Harry nodded, sobering slightly too. There’s a beat or two of silence.

“Still,” Ginny said, not managing to stop the huge grin spreading across her face.

“Best. Present. _Ever_ ,” Harry said, laughing.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Potter,” she said. “And congratulations on becoming a Dad again!”

Joyfully, Harry swept her up into his arms, embracing her. She pushed herself bodily towards him, feeling the familiarity of his warm arms, his chest, his body... They melded together, and leaned back together, and—

“Oh.”

Ginny, now wearing most of the incredibly flattened, totally ruined birthday cake across her back, swore mightily. “What are we going to do?!” she exclaimed, turning to her husband.

“Only one thing for it,” he said, catching her eye.

“...blame it on the kids, of course!”


End file.
